


Paint the Pictures

by ace0389



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace0389/pseuds/ace0389
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is 10 when his mom comes home from the hospital for the last time. He paints pictures, trying to be the artist his mom is. Things don't quite go his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint the Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry. I had to, though. Forgive me?

**S** eeing her like this, laid out in the hospital bed with tubes and wires sticking out of her, made his gut twist. Almost like his organs were being folded into the most messed up origami to ever exist. Her eyes were closed, her lids purple against the pale skin of her face. His dad said she was going to be with the angels soon. Stiles frowned as he sat next to his mom, turning over the idea of her going to heaven in his mind. His legs rhythmically thumped the legs of the chair he was sitting in, as he twisted the hem of his t-shirt in his hands.

It _sucked._

She was supposed to be here, with him. She was supposed to play kickball with him and teach him how to paint pictures like she does. His bedroom walls were covered with paintings that she had done… some of him, some of their family, and other random things pertaining to their lives together. A painting of a broken window from when Stiles and Scott were playing baseball in the backyard and things got a little away from them. The painting she did of a bike laying against the concrete of their street, with Stiles next to it crying with a scrapped knee. The painting next to it, which showed Stiles the next day riding his bike with no hands.

Stiles was supposed to learn to be as amazing as she was, and he just _knew_ that if she went to be with the angels that he never would.

Stiles froze at the soft moan that left his mother’s mouth, clenching his hands even more as her eyes began to flutter. She had been sleeping since he got here; it felt like he had been sitting in the chair for hours. And he would, if it meant he got to see her.

“Mom?” Stiles whispered, his 10 year old voice flowing out into the room, fighting for presence against the machines around his mom’s bed. She turned her head to him and smiled, her eyes the same shade of honey gold as his.

“Stiles,” She said, her voice washing over him, causing his heart to thud painfully in his chest.

“Hey, mom,” He said, scooting his chair closer to her bed so he could reach out and hold her hand. She smiled at him and rubbed her thumb against his palm.

“How are you, baby?” Her voice was breathy, almost as if it hurt to take a breath to speak. For all he knew, it did.

“I’m alright. Dad says you’re coming home today!” Stiles grinned at her and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back and let out a small laugh.

“Isn’t it exciting? I can’t wait to be in my own bed,” She said, still rubbing her thumb against his hand. Stiles nodded and grinned.

“I know! And we can paint together, just like you said we would! And I even cleaned my room, so you don’t even have to tell me to!” He grinned at her again, thinking of all the things they would do. School was staring in a month, his first year in the middle school. A whole month for them to go on adventures and paint. His mom closed her eyes as she began to cough, bringing her other hand up to shield her mouth with the tissue she had been holding.

“Are you ok?” He asked worriedly, clenching her hand tighter than before. She wiped her mouth on the tissue. Stiles saw the blood, even though she tried to quickly close her fist around the evidence.

“I’ll always be ok if you’re with me, Stiles,” She said to him, smiling as his face lit up.

“That’s right, because I’m Batman!” He glanced down at his shirt, the bat symbol loud and clear on his chest. His mother laughed, and it sounded like the wind chimes hanging outside his window.

“That’s right, honey. But remember, even Batman has to take the suit off and be Bruce Wayne. Never forget that.”

“That means you’re Robin though, right Mom?” he asked, watching her face as her eyes crinkled.

“Of course.” She said, squeezing his hand before letting go. His dad and Mrs. McCall entered the room with a wheel chair.

“Stiles, can you go wait in the hall while we get your mom all changed to go home?” Mrs. McCall asked. Stiles glanced at his mom who gave a slight nod to him. He jumped out of the chair and gave his mom a hug.

“Ok,” He chirped, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

 

*******

**T** he ride home from the hospital was slow, as if his dad was afraid to go over 15 miles per hour. He silently agreed with what he was doing, because every time the car went over a bump his mother got that pinched look on her face, like she was hurt.

Stiles opened every door that needed to be opened as his dad helped her inside. He laughed as his dad carried her up the stairs. His mom was giggling and whispering to him, making his dad’s face turn red. Stiles wished he could hear what she was saying.

He never wanted her to stop talking; he never wanted to forget her voice.

 

*******

**W** hen he woke up the next morning he padded over to his parents room, pushing the door open and poking his head around the door. His mom was in bed, already awake, reading a book. Stiles frowned and pushed the door open all the way.

“Good morning, Mom.” Stiles said as he walked over to the bed. She laid the book down in her lap and gave him a smile. He loved her smiles.

“Good morning, honey. Come here,” She patted the space next to her as Stiles climbed onto the bed and snuggled in to her side. He peered at the book she was reading and pulled a face at the half naked man on the cover.

“What are you reading?” He asked, scrunching his nose up as he stared at the title.

“It’s a romance novel, Stiles. You wouldn’t like it, it has girls in it.” She bumped her shoulder against his, poking fun at the fact that he had freaked out over the girl that tried to kiss him.

“Girls are gross. Except you!” He finished hurriedly, smiling a little as she laughed.

“Of course they are, baby. Alright, go get the painting you were working on. I want to see it,” She said, glancing at the door. Stiles nodded and jumped off the bed, going down the hall to their painting room. He grabbed his latest painting and brought it to his mom. He turned the frame around and held it up for her to see, his heart beating rapidly.

“Oh, _Stiles._ ” His mom sounded like she was about to cry. He lowered it and stared at her face, seeing her eyes well up as she clasped her hands together. “It’s beautiful, Stiles. I think it’s your best yet.”

“Really?” He asked, excited that she liked it. He had worked so hard on it, trying to paint her exactly how he remembered her from the day they had gotten ice cream at the park. She was wearing a sundress, and she was laughing as she held an ice cream cone.

“You’re amazing, Stiles. You’re the best of me, you know?” She said as he leaned the painting against the night stand before scrambling back up the bed.

“Mommm,” he whined as she ruffled his hair. She could be so mushy sometimes.

“I love you, Stiles,” She said as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Stiles kissed her back before leaning back. “Now go brush your teeth like a good little superhero,” she teased, pinching his nose.

“Mom! You can’t just pinch Batman’s nose!” He said as he slid off the bed, grabbing his painting as she laughed.

“Oh honey, be happy it was just your nose I pinched and not your little tush. Remember, you have to brush for _two_ minutes.” She said, laughing at him as he left the room.

He brushed for two and a half, just to be safe.

 

*******

**S** tiles put the paintbrush down one week to the day after he first showed his mom his new painting. It was finally done. He had been working on it every day, trying to get the colors of her just right. He fist pumped the air before grabbing the canvas and running down the hall to his parent’s room. He flung open the door, wincing as it slammed into the wall.

“Mom! It’s done, I finished it!” He said, bounding over to the bed. His mother laid still, arms laying at her sides.

“Mom?” Stiles asked, putting the painting down and climbing onto the bed. Her eyes were closed as he shook her, trying to wake her.

“Mom?” he asked again, his voice cracking slightly. He brought a shaking hand to her wrist, jumping at the coldness of her skin. He felt nothing. She had no pulse, and her chest wasn’t moving.

“MOM!” He screamed, shaking her more. Stiles began to cry, tears running down his face as he shook her. “Wake up,” He cried, backing away from her and over to the night stand to grab the phone.  
He dialed 911, just like his parents told him to if there was an emergency.

After he hung up, after he was done talking to Beth and telling her that his mom wasn’t moving, he crawled back over to her and laid his head on her chest, crying into her shirt.  
His dad and the paramedics found him curled up against her and crying just 5 minutes later.

 

*******

**T** he funeral was on a Friday. He was dressed in a rented suit, wearing a pair of dress shoes that pinched his feet. He didn’t care. The birds were chirping, and he wanted to get his slingshot and shut them up. Bird song was only for happy times, and Stiles knew that today of all days was one that should be silent.

His dad held onto his hand, squeezing painfully as the Minister said some final words. Tears ran down his face silently, all speech long since gone from him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so silent.

His father steered him away from the casket as it began to be lowered down into the hole that his mother would be buried in. He sniffled, staring at the ground as his father moved him towards the car. Scott ran up to him and slipped his hand in to Stiles free one, walking quietly next to him. Stiles squeezed, silently thanking him for being there. Scott was always there for him.

Stiles and Scott climbed into the backseat as his dad got into the passenger side, Melissa McCall getting into the driver’s seat. The drive back was quiet. Stiles and Scott made their way up to his room once they got back to the house.

Stiles looked around, looked at all the paintings that reminded him of his mom. Of his life, really. He clenched his fists and yanked one off the wall, throwing it to the ground.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Scott asked, panic in his voice. Stiles just ripped another off the wall, letting it fall on top of the first.

“Help me take these down, please,” Stiles asked, yanking another from the wall and letting it fall. Scott said nothing, but the sound of canvas hitting the ground let him know all he needed to know. It took them twenty minutes to take them all down and stack them neatly in front of Stiles closet. His walls were bare, empty as he felt inside.

“Can you go downstairs and get some trash bags for me?” Stiles asked Scott, watching his friend nod and leave the room. He sat on his bed, looking around at his room and the dozens of nails sticking out of the wall that once held up his mother’s art. Scott came back in a few minutes later, his dad and Melissa following him. His dad took one look around before sitting next to him and rubbing his back.

“Stiles?” His dad asked, “What are you doing?” Stiles just stared at his hands, rubbing his thumb against his palm.

“It hurts to look at them,” He choked out, “They need to go in the basement.”

“Ok,” his dad said, standing up and shaking out a bag that Melissa handed him. Scott sat next to him and held his hand again as their parents put the paintings in bags, tying them shut and bringing them into the hall one by one. It felt final, seeing the paintings disappear into the bags. Just like his mom had disappeared into the earth.

“Thank you,” He whispered as the last bag left the room. Melissa gave him a smile as she left, grabbing a bag from the hall and taking it downstairs. His dad turned to him at the door, letting his eyes wander.

“We can get the nails out tomorrow,” he said, his voice gruff. Stiles nodded, and with a shake of his head his dad closed the door. Scott was looking at him; he could feel his eyes burning into the side of his head.

“Stiles?” Scott asked, nudging his friend with his shoulder. Stiles looked at him, his eyes wet and bloodshot.

“I feel like I’m never going to be happy again,” His voice was monotone, and hearing it made Scott throw his arms around Stiles and hug him.

“You will, somehow. It’s going to be ok,” Scott whispered into his neck. Stiles began to cry again, his tears running down his face and hitting Scott in the neck as the fell.

“No, I don’t think it is.” He said, letting his head fall against Scott’s. “I could be wrong.” He conceded. Scott nodded against him, tightening his arms around him.

But in his heart he knew. His mom was with the angels. She would never paint pictures again. She would never call him honey, or be his Robin. Nothing would ever be the same.


End file.
